


Find Me Somebody To Love

by SordidDetailsFollowing



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, College Student Peter Parker, Fluff, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Lonely Tony Stark, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, Secret Identity, Smut, Stark internship, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2020-11-08 01:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SordidDetailsFollowing/pseuds/SordidDetailsFollowing
Summary: A chance encounter has Spider-Man and Iron Man teaming up for the first time, and the chemistry is more than just science talk. Tony's interest in a certain snarky spider is piqued, and Peter is living out a long time fantasy just speaking with the genius Avenger.But Peter Parker is serious about his secret identity, and things get sticky when he starts an internship at Stark Industries.





	1. Sharing Different Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tangodoodles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangodoodles/gifts).

> Hello, everyone! Thanks for dropping by.
> 
> This was written for the lovely Tangodoodles, who won the bidding on my Marvel Trumps Hate 2018 commission! They came up with the prompt and I'm very excited to keep building on it.
> 
> Please enjoy.
> 
> xx Sordid
> 
> Work Title:  
Somebody to Love - Queen
> 
> Chapter Title:  
Heartbeats - The Knife

Peter _had_ been having a nice night.

It was lovely out, the warm Spring day fading seamlessly into a cool, breezy evening beneath a clear sky. There were even a few bright stars visible through the light pollution hovering like smog over New York City. Peter had started his patrol early, eager to be out in such fine weather after the recent late-season snow storm that had turned the streets to rivers of slush and forced the radiators in his dorm to rattle back to life one last time. It wasn’t completely dark yet, Midtown glowing dimly as the last vestiges of pink-orange sunset leaked over the horizon, so the going was slow, crime-wise.

He was taking it easy, stuffing an indulgent hot dog in his mouth and swinging his legs over the edge of one of his favorite rooftops, when he heard a strange noise.

It was far away, dull and somewhat distorted over the distance, but the creaking and grinding was nothing quite like anything Peter had heard before. It set his teeth on edge and sent a tingle of unease shooting down his spine. Heeding his body’s infallible instincts, he gulped down the last bite of his dinner and stood quickly, wiping his hands off on his thighs and yanking down the bottom of his mask. Then he set off, swinging down the city blocks towards the source of the sound.

It took him a few minutes to close the gap, covering the miles at an urgent pace, and the noises only got more concerning as the seconds ticked by. The groaning and snapping of steel and stone was soon accompanied by the blaring of alarms and the screams of panicked people. Setting his jaw and steeling himself for anything from fire to aliens, Peter rounded a corner in the office district and came into view of the building in question.

It was… a confusing sight. There was nothing obviously wrong with the architecture, no flames in the windows or cracks in the cement (yet), but the ground all around the structure was caved in. As if several cavernous mole tunnels had collapsed in a perfect mote, trapping everyone inside.

“Damn.” He muttered to himself, clinging to the side of another office building to survey the scene. “Why do I always get the weird ones?”

He could already hear sirens approaching, but this was clearly too much for the fire department and NYPD to handle on their own. He wished he had time to figure out what was causing this, but his priority would have to be getting everyone out before the building went down and hoping a giant mole-man didn’t burst out of the ground to bite him in the ass. He could see quite a few people huddled in the doorways, hanging out of the windows, and could hear even more of them inside.

He was about to leap into action when another sound had his head whipping in the opposite direction. A low, rushing hum like a jet engine. Two of them, approaching fast.

He tensed momentarily, ready to intercept, but a flash of red against the navy sky had his stomach swooping in elation instead. He grinned briefly beneath his mask, watching as Iron Man and War Machine pulled smoothly out of their approach to hover over the building.

“Fuck yeah.”

He had no idea why the Avengers were showing up to handle a somewhat routine New York Catastrophe, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Maybe they were bored. He had actually never been within a city block of either of them, except maybe when he walked by Stark Tower, so he was internally giddy about not just being in the same place at the same time, but actually having the opportunity to maybe help out and show off. Just a little bit.

He didn’t wait around anymore, lives to save and all that, and launched himself towards the building with a flick of his wrist. He jumped the gaping hole in the ground easily and peered curiously into it as he passed over. There was nothing to see; just more dirt. So he put it out of his mind to focus on grabbing people, two at a time, and ferrying them over to safety.

“It’s alright folks, no need to panic. Just hang onto me. There, just like that, I got you.”

The groaning of the building was getting louder, kicking him into high gear, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from picking up on the comm-chatter between the two heroes stationed overhead.

“The EM radiation coming off this area is ridiculous, man.”

“I see the readings, but that doesn’t tell us what the fuck is going on. Hey, who’s that?”

Oh god. That was _Tony Stark’s_ voice. A little distorted through the suit’s mic but undeniably recognizable all the same.

“Uh… Spider-Man, I think.”

Oh god, War Machine knew who he was! And this was a really inappropriate time to be grinning like an idiot, but no one could see beneath his mask so what the hell.

“Maybe we should get off our asses and help a spider out.”

“Roger that.”

And then all _three_ of them were carrying frightened employees over to the firetrucks and police cars now lined up on the other side of the chasm to receive people and direct them to safety. Peter was dying to call out a greeting to either of the iron-clad men, but it was doubtful that they would be able to hear him and he was a little too busy to stop and chat. After the steel framework of the building gave a terrifying screech audible even through the concrete, Peter started gathering together groups of four or five and quickly dousing them in web-fluid so he could carry them across. 

His concern grew when an underground tremor crumbled away more of the ground at the edges of the building and sent a tingle of warning down the back of his neck. He took a quick glance at how many people were left waiting at the windows and doorways and urged himself to move faster.

They’d gotten just about everyone out, and Iron Man and War Machine were nearest to the last group huddled on the east corner, when the rumbling started in earnest. Stone and concrete began to crumble off the sides of the building, disappearing into the chasm that had opened up below. Peter clung to a tenth-story window as long as he could, making sure that the last couple of people were flown to safety and listening hard for anyone else. There was no one left inside, just the grating sound of collapse and a hum of danger running down his spine. He turned to web himself to safety, and that’s when he saw it.

A firetruck had pulled up too close to the edge of the mote, a ladder extended uselessly into the open air above the drop off, and now the ground beneath it was disintegrating, the truck sliding. There were three men inside, faces turned to masks of panic. Iron Man and War Machine were too far away, hands full of civilians, and Peter wouldn’t be able to get them all out in time; the truck was already tipping, picking up speed.

He flung himself at the truck and flipped off the back of it, quickly hooking his hands under the wide bumper. He planted his feet and yanked, muscles straining.

For a moment, he thought he would slip and they would all fall in. But he bent his legs and flexed his shoulders, teeth gritted in effort, and swung the entire truck around, using the momentum to launch it onto solid ground. The vehicle landed with a loud groan of protesting metal, tires blown and windshield cracking, everyone inside shaken but unharmed. Peter grinned briefly.

And then the ground went out from under him and he fell, breath knocked out of his lungs in one great rush.

He scrambled for a handhold, shot a web and tried to catch himself, but whatever it stuck to wasn’t secure and he tumbled downwards, spidey sense going wild and panic clutching his heart in a tight fist. 

He hit the bottom with a jolt. 

For a moment, everything blurred. His head tingled, his muscles felt heavy, and his lungs burned. He couldn’t move, and it took him several terrifying tries before he could suck in a rattling gasp of air. He choked, and coughed. It hurt. Everything hurt. 

“Hey! Spider-Man, hey. You alright? Shit.” 

It took much more effort than it should have to turn his head, muscles stiff and protesting. And there was Iron Man, pushing aside a large piece of concrete to get to him. He forced himself to sit up as the red and gold figure approached, larger than life. He grunted as his head swam, and it took a couple tries to leverage himself up.

“Hey, hey. Take it easy.” Iron Man folded down to one knee and placed a hand between Peter’s shoulder blades, supporting him. “That was quite a fall.”

“M’fine.” Peter slurred, his heart racing. His thoughts were muffled and disordered, but he knew he didn’t want to look incapable in front of Tony fucking Stark. “Totally fine. Nice to finally meet you, by the way.”

Iron Man chuckled, and Peter was already having enough trouble breathing as it was. “You, too. Think you can stand? This building is gonna come down on our pretty little heads any second here.”

The building _was_ making some terrible noises, and everything around them vibrated with unsettled tremors. 

“No problem.” 

He pushed himself up, clenching his jaw so he wouldn’t make any embarrassing noises. His legs were unsteady and his whole body seemed to protest the movement, but he managed to get to his feet with only minimal clutching at Iron Man’s offered arm. He let go and stepped towards the edge of the hole, but when he tipped his head back to look up at how far down they were, his vision went dark at the edges and he staggered.

Iron Man caught him by the arm. “Whoa, there. You okay, buddy? Maybe a little concussed, huh?”

“No… No, I’m fine.” Peter bit out, though for one horrifying moment he felt like he might puke.

“Course you are. I’m just gonna carry us both out, ‘kay? Cause I know you’re fine, but I’m worried about getting crushed and this might be a little faster.”

“O-Okay.” Peter’s breath hitched as _Tony fucking Stark_ wrapped an arm around his waist and took his weight.

“Just hold onto me, now. Like that. Good.”

Peter clung, and then they were pushing off the ground and his stomach swooped as they shot up towards the open air. He did not puke, thankfully, and it was only a few seconds before they were touching down on a clear patch of sidewalk beside the emergency responders. Iron Man released him, but kept one hand on the small of his back as Peter regained his balance.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, just as the building gave a great rumble and began to sag sideways. 

He tensed, prepared to take off if it looked like anyone was going to be in the path of danger, but the structure caved inwards with a deafening boom. Peter sucked in a breath as it collapsed, sending a massive cloud of dust rushing outwards and starting a chain reaction of coughs and dismayed cries from the onlookers.

They both stared for a moment, taking in the sadly familiar sight of another fallen city building, until War Machine landed beside them with a heavy sound.

“Damn. You alright, man?” 

He nodded automatically, and Colonel Rhodes clapped him on the back, causing Peter to bite his lip against a whimper as his ribs protested. Felt like maybe they were cracked. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“That was incredible, by the way.” War Machine continued. “I had no idea you were so damn strong, dude! You might give the green guy a run for his money.”

Peter flushed under the mask, but thankfully Rhodes moved on before he had to formulate a response. “You guys see anything down there?”

“Nothing but dirt and rocks.” Stark responded, retracting his faceplate so he could talk without filtering his voice through the suit. Peter tried not to stare too long at his face - he was just as handsome in person as he was on TV. 

“You stay here and work with the feds when they show up.” He continued. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Sure thing.” Rhodes agreed with a nod.

“I’ll take the spider back to the Tower and have his injuries checked out.”

Peter blinked in surprise. “Oh, no. That’s okay, Mr. Stark, really. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

He nodded downwards and Peter looked, surprised to see a gash running down the side of his thigh. The suit was torn open and the wound was long, but shallow. Not bleeding too badly. He’d probably scraped some concrete when he landed, and hadn’t even felt it after the shock of impact.

“Oh, that?” He laughed a little, and hoped he wasn’t coming off as manic. “That’s nothing, Mr. Stark. I’m fine!”

Stark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we know. But humor me anyway. And call me Tony.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, stunned by the fact that Tony Stark just asked him to call him Tony. Just Tony. As in my friend Tony, billionaire playboy philanthropist.

“Looks like SHIELD sent in the cavalry.” Rhodes remarked, and their attention was pulled towards the line of black Chevy Suburbans coming down the street.

“Come on, then. Better get out of here before we get stuck giving three-hour debriefs to the good agents.” 

Tony reached for him, and Peter’s heart skipped a beat. “You don’t have to carry me!” He hurried to say, stomach twisting at the thought of being _carried_ by Iron Man all the way back to Stark Tower. “I can swing there.”

“You sure?” He looked incredulous.

Peter swung his arms back and forth, displaying his range of motion. “Yep. I’m just -“

“Don’t say fine.”

“Dandy.”

Tony stared for a moment, then let out a snort of amusement, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Alright, Spidey. Then I’ll meet you there.”

“Kay.”

Tony gave him another lingering look before his face plate snapped back down and he took off, rising into the air and waiting for Peter before he started flying towards the Tower.

“See you around, man.” War Machine nodded in farewell. “Thanks for helping out.”

“No problem.” Peter grinned, giddy with the easy interaction. “See you, Colonel.”

He shot a web and took off, following Iron Man down the block. His ribs protested sharply and his head kind of felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he was able to keep up a decent speed as they covered the distance. He could tell that Mr. Stark was flying slower than usual to keep pace with him, and it made his guts feel light.

He was actually going to Stark Tower. With ‘Call Me Tony’ Stark himself. 

Maybe this was going to turn out to be a good night, after all.


	2. They're Gonna Eat Me Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title:  
Help I'm Alive - Metric

Peter Parker was inside Tony Stark’s personal laboratory. 

_Inside_ Tony Stark’s lab. The one he worked in. In the tower he lived in. Where he walked and talked and invented incredible things and drank coffee and wore pajamas. Probably. Peter had had so many fantasies about just this situation that he was honestly starting to question whether he’d hit his head a little too hard falling down inside that hole. 

But nope, he was here. Led inside the back entrance by Call Me Tony and greeted by a smooth lilting voice when they entered a private elevator with no visible buttons. 

“Is that your AI?” He asked excitedly as they exited the elevator. He followed his host through a pair of sliding glass doors on mostly steady feet and tried not to be too obvious about peering around the giant lab with wide-eyed enthusiasm. 

“FRIDAY.” Tony Stark stated without further explanation.

“Pleased to meet you, Spider-Man.”

Peter was suddenly too distracted to respond to the polite, accented voice. Tony’s Iron Man suit was peeling away from his body as he walked, flowing like sand down his neck and up his arms and pouring itself into the glowing arc reactor unit in the center of his chest. He was wearing a dark tracksuit underneath, clearly tailored to his measurements.

Never before had Peter truly understood the meaning of the phrase ‘suit porn.’

“Yo, Spidey, you still with me?”

Peter blinked, forcing his gaze back up to Tony’s face where he stood a few yards away, eyebrows raised in a mild question. He swallowed hard to get his voice working again and jumped to catch up. “Yeah, yeah. Just, I’ve never seen nanotech work like that before. How did you program that level of complex synchronicity?”

Tony’s eyebrows climbed higher. “Same way I program my artificial children.” He leaned back against a steel table, crossing his arms over his chest. “Neural net with a shit ton of bioinformatics tossed in. And I cheat - got everything synced up with my girl FRIDAY for admin control and learning algorithms.”

Peter huffed out an exhilarated breath, rising up slightly on his toes. “Amazing.”

Tony shrugged with one shoulder, but his mouth twisted into a self-satisfied smirk that had Peter feeling a little light-headed again.

“Alright now, hop up.” He reached out to pat the surface of the table and turned to pluck a StarkPad off an overcrowded work bench nearby.

Peter’s feet carried him forward automatically, but he hesitated beside the Avenger with an incredulous tilt of the head. “Um, on the table?”

The grin Tony flashed him now was familiar from photoshoots and tabloid articles. “I suppose it’s not strictly necessary, but you’re gonna humor me anyway. I do enjoy playing doctor.”

Peter had never been more thankful for his mask as he felt himself flush red all the way down his neck. He leveraged himself easily onto the steel surface with a wince at his jostled ribs.

“I am a doctor, you know.” Tony tapped at something on his tablet, standing close enough that Peter could feel his leg brush the side of his knee. “Got a few PhDs under my belt, though most of them are honorary if we’re being honest here.”

“I’m pretty sure Banner’s the only medical doctor on the team, regardless of what you’ve got below your belt.” Peter’s mouth ran itself as per usual, leaving him with a sinking mortification as soon as the words left his tongue.

Tony sucked in a hissing breath, pausing to touch one hand to his chest and fix Peter with a wounded look. “Ouch, looks like this spider bites.”

His retort was playful, but there was a curious gleam in his dark eyes that had Peter shifting slightly against the uncomfortable surface of the table. The whole interaction felt surreal. Thrilling, but surreal.

“Good thing I’m not venomous.” He shot back, and watched with interest as Tony returned his attention to the tablet with a chuckle and a small shake of his head.

“Alrighty, Spidey, I’m gonna have FRIDAY do a full body scan with your verbal consent.” He finished typing something out and then fixed Peter with an expectant look.

“Oh, sure. Yeah.” Peter straightened up a bit and then tried to hold as still as possible. “Go for it.”

He waited for a light or a laser to appear from the ether and skim over his body, but there was nothing. Just a few seconds of silence before Tony said, “Done,” and began swiping intently at the tablet.

Peter relaxed his posture again and tried not to fidget while he waited for the results. Would the scan show his radioactive spider DNA? He probably should have thought about that before he gave his consent. He’d been careful not to go to the doctor or even see the school nurse since he was bitten. He’d skipped the day in AP Bio when they partnered up to take blood samples and test them for type. He’d looked at his own blood under a microscope and it still appeared to be AB negative, but he’d wanted to play it safe anyway.

“Uh, dude?”

Peter blinked to attention at the incredulous tone of the older man’s voice. “What?”

“Did you know you have seven broken ribs?” He swiped up across the surface of the StarkPad and a hologram flew into the air to hover in front of them, a close-up image of the inside of Peter’s torso in shades of blue and grey.

“Oh, yeah.” He leaned forward to peer curiously at the slowly revolving hologram. “Just cracked, though. No floaters.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to swing all the way up here? With seven cracked ribs.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s not so bad. They’ll be all better by tomorrow.”

“What, seriously?” Tony’s expression, when Peter lifted his eyes to look, was a perfect mix of awe and greedy intrigue. Peter had to marvel for a second, struck by such a look on this particular face. “That’s one hell of a healing factor.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Mm, yeah. I guess it is.”

“You know, I’d love to get a blood sample. Just to run a few tests, see if there’s any isolatable factors.”

“Oh, uh. No. Thank you.”

Tony made a _worth a try_ face, but he didn’t look too disappointed. He just went back to the hologram without pushing any further, for which Peter was grateful.

“No evidence of swelling in the brain.” He commented wryly. “Though I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a TBI considering your decision to fly through the air hundreds of feet above the ground suspended from nothing but flimsy webs with seven broken ribs.”

“You can’t see it right now, but I’m rolling my eyes beneath this mask.” He counted it as a personal victory when Tony snickered.

He was now scrolling through a series of stats too quickly for Peter to read from the wrong side of the hologram. “Your temp is elevated, though. Do you feel sick? Aside from the _broken bones_, I mean?”

“No, that’s normal.” Peter picked absently at the tear in his suit, silently lamenting the necessity of buying more navy thread to sew it up again. “I just run hot.”

“Huh.” Tony stared at the numbers for a few more seconds, eyes narrowed in concentration, before swiping the whole hologram aside and throwing the tablet carelessly onto the table. He brushed Peter’s hand out of the way and grabbed at his thigh, shifting it slightly to get a better look at the scrape running down the side of it. Peter sucked in a breath at the casual touch and tried hard not to tense.

“Incredible.” Tony murmured, sliding his thumb under the edge of the torn fabric and tugging it aside to view the edges of the wound. “Completely scabbed over. Almost looks like you’re in proliferation already.”

Peter wet his lips beneath the mask and took a deep breath, purposefully expanding his ribs until they sent him a sharp stab of painful warning. Because while he had had a few close calls in his suit (he was a teenager, after all), he had managed to never get aroused enough to cause a problem for Spider-Man and he didn’t plan on the first time being in front of Tony Fucking Stark.

“It was shallow.” He explained, carefully shifting his leg out of Tony’s grip. 

“Not that shallow.” But he let it go, reaching instead to grab hold of one of Peter’s wrists and flip it over, unerringly locating the invisible seam between sleeve and glove and peeling the fabric back to reveal the mechanics of the web shooter. “I’ve seen you on Youtube, you know.”

“Uh.” Tony was fiddling with the device, clearly looking for the trigger mechanism, and Peter wasn’t sure if he should put a stop to it. He doubted that Iron Man would use his designs for any nefarious purpose, and a not-so-small part of him was eager to see what the world’s most famous engineer would think of the invention.

“Yep. You got like, 50 million hits. Real YouTube star material. Ah, here we go.”

He found the micro-button sewn into the lining of the glove and pressed down, sending a web shooting straight past his shoulder to latch onto a robotic arm a few yards away. 

“Clever. And then if you… Mm, nope.” It took another few seconds of toying with the shooter before he found the right angle to release the web so it was no longer tethered to Peter’s wrist. The robot Tony had webbed was making a sad whirring sound, clumsily scraping its arm against the edge of a table in an unsuccessful attempt to get the substance off. 

“Ay.” Tony snapped his fingers at it. “Stop that or I _will_ put you in time out again.” 

Peter couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “Don’t worry, you should be able to unstick it from metal with a simple sodium carbonate solution.”

“What about bicarbonate?”

“I’ve used baking soda before and it gets the job done, but it’s not as quick or clean.”

Tony made a thoughtful noise. “So you came up with this yourself?” He was examining the detached end, rubbing it between his fingers as if testing its stickiness. 

“Yeah.” Peter folded his hands in his lap and tried to tamp down on the giddy nervousness stirring in his stomach. “It was originally intended for medical usage. Field dressing, things like that, but the fibrous structure wasn’t quite right.” 

“Impressive.” He stated, to Peter’s utter delight. “What’s the tensile strength?”

“Two-hundred seventy thousand PSI.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at Peter, a satisfied twist to his mouth. “Like spider silk.”

“Exactly.” 

“Can I keep a sample?”

Peter shrugged, flattered by the interest. “Sure, but it’ll all dissolve in about two hours.”

“Is that so?” He turned a freshly fascinated gaze to the bit of webbing still caught between his fingers. “Did you design it that way or is it just a conveniently unstable compound?”

Peter huffed in amusement. “Do I need to worry about you reverse engineering the formula and making millions?”

“Billions.” Tony corrected him casually. “But no. Don’t you already have a patent for it, anyway?”

“Um, well.” Peter blinked, a little stunned because it had just been a joke - surely his webbing wasn’t worth _that_ much money. “No. Should I?”

Tony scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head. “Oh, Spidey. Dear, innocent Spidey.” He turned on his heel to stride towards the robotic arm, deftly looping the webbing around his hand as he walked until he had a neatly wound pile to set on top of the robot. “Don’t you fret about it, I’ll have one written up for you.”

“Wow. That’s really generous of you.” Peter slid off the table with one hand pressed to his side, keeping his ribs sightly more stabilized. “Sure you don’t want to steal the design and add to your inordinate wealth?”

“I don’t steal ideas, Red. Got enough of my own.” He gestured around them at the cluttered (oh my god is that a stealth jet in the corner?) workshop. “Clearly.”

“Right.” Peter watched, still pleasantly starstruck, as Tony moved back towards him to lean against the table again. He really did look good in the tracksuit, one hand braced against the shiny steel surface. 

“So. You got a name?”

“Huh?” Peter forced his eyes back to Tony’s face.

“That thing the barista writes on the side of your iced caramel macchiato.”

“Oh, um. Just Spider-Man, if you don’t mind.”

Tony shrugged. “Suit yourself, I guess. But you know I could probably have FRIDAY track you down in under a minute.”

“Please don’t.” The words fell out in a rush, tinged with the panic he could feel quickly building behind his chest. Tony tipped his head to look at him, long and appraising. “It’s just that it’s very important that I stay anonymous. Not that you’re not trustworthy, or anything, just… You know, professional courtesy. Please?”

Tony held his gaze for another agonizing moment before nodding slowly. “Alright. Professional courtesy, then.”

Peter let out the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Webs.” He snagged the tablet off the table again and started turning it over absently in his hands. “You need your ribs wrapped before you swing back to your spider-lair?”

“Naw, I think I’ll survive.” Peter stole another glance around the lab, wistful for the chance to look around properly. “Thanks, though. Good to know I don’t have brain damage, at least.”

“No visible evidence, anyway.” Tony set the tablet down again and stepped forward to clap Peter on the shoulder, then used his grip to steer him back towards the elevator. “Well, it’s been a pleasure. Keep up the good work and all that jazz. I’m sure I’ll stumble into your spider web again some time.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Peter knew he should probably just leave it at that - there was a reason he never tried to work with the city’s other heroes - but his stomach sank at the thought of never speaking with Tony Stark again. It was everything he’d dreamed of as a nerdy little kid from Queens. “Um, let me know if SHIELD finds out what caused that building to collapse?”

It was kind of a thin excuse, but Tony seemed to accept it. “Will do. Let me know if you change your mind about letting me steal some of your blood.”

Peter chuckled as he stepped into the elevator. “Will do.”

“Swing safe out there. FRIDAY, show our friend out.”

“Yes, boss.” The smooth Irish voice confirmed, and the doors slid shut on his last view of Tony tucking his hands onto his pockets. 

“Holy shit.” He whispered to himself as the elevator moved upwards, before remembering the AI and glancing curiously around for signs of the cameras he was sure were there. He couldn't see anything, but the soft, high hum of electronics surrounded him on all sides. It was difficult to escape, these days. Even outdoors. 

The journey to Columbia was more painful this time, stiffness from the fall (and subsequent impact) settling into his whole body. At least it wasn’t as late as it normally was when he landed in one of his usual alleyways to dig his backpack out from behind the dumpster and change back into civilian clothes. He didn’t feel too bad about cutting patrol short tonight, since he’d saved quite a few lives in the office district and he wouldn’t be much use right now with his ribs protesting every twist and deep inhale. 

He walked the five blocks back to campus, already exhausted but grinning intermittently at memories of the evening’s events. He’d _met_ Tony Stark. He’d been invited into Stark Tower. Into Iron Man’s lab! It was worth the broken ribs, for sure.

He let himself into this darkened dorm room as quietly as he could, unsure if his roommate was already asleep, but relaxed when it appeared that Johnny was still out. He made sure to tuck his suit into the false bottom of his top bureau drawer before collapsing face first onto his bed with a long groan.

He wanted to go over every second of the evening again, so he would remember it all, but he was out like a light in seconds flat, hot breaths dampening the pillow case.

His healing factor always did take it out of him.

* * *

Thursdays were his busiest, back to back labs and a late afternoon class, then journalism club, then his evening shift at the diner. His ribs ached dully for the first half of the day, but he felt pretty much back to normal by the time he scarfed down a granola bar for lunch. 

By the time he dragged himself back to the dorms again it was already kind of late, and he was dreading going back out for patrol. He stopped at the mailroom on his way up, emptying his mailbox of its meager contents before trudging up the stairs to his fourth floor room. 

“Hey, man.” Johnny greeted him when he let himself in, sprawled out on his bed playing a game on his laptop.

“Hey.” Peter replied, dumping everything on his bed and toeing his shoes off. He could probably get a start on his calculous proofs before going out for a couple hours. 

“You got another booty call tonight?”

Peter stifled a sigh and busied himself fishing his textbook out of his bag. He’d had to make up an excuse for disappearing at all hours of the night, and a secret boyfriend seemed to be the most believable. His make-believe lover was still in the closet (god, Peter hoped he would never let himself actually be so trite) which gave him a reason not to tell anyone who it was, and explained why they only really ‘hung out’ at night.

“Yeah, I’m probably gonna go over to his in an hour.”

“Respect, dude. I wish I was gettin’ some on the regular. Ah, fuck!” He smashed a button on his keyboard over and over, momentarily distracted by the video game. 

Peter didn’t bother to protest the assumption. What else would they be doing almost every night for several hours at a time? It was a bit ironic, he supposed, that he was a seventeen year old virgin using clandestine hook ups as a cover. 

“He’s a teacher, isn’t he?” Johnny had pushed his laptop aside, apparently dead or paused, and was grinning conspiratorially in Peter’s direction.

“What? No.” He tried to concentrate on finding the right page in the book for his assignment.

“Married, then?”

Peter spared him an affronted glare. “Of course not.”

“But he is older. You said he has his own place and everything.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s old!”

Johnny shrugged. “No judgement! I think it’s cool, you know. I wouldn’t turn down a sugar daddy, either.”

Peter sighed, exasperated, and forced himself to focus on homework instead of fighting about his imaginary friend. Johnny usually lost interest and stopped bothering him if he just didn’t engage. 

He managed to finish the assignment for Monday in under an hour and was putting everything on his desk when he spotted the forgotten mail at the foot of his bed. He grabbed it along with his backpack, suit tucked away inside, and headed for the door. “See you later.”

“Have fun!” Johnny waved him out. “Use condoms!”

He rolled his eyes, locking the door behind him. He took the stairs down three at a time and stopped in the lobby to shuffle through the mail, ready to recycle all the unwanted ads and campus announcements. There was a letter at the bottom of the pile that made him freeze.

A letter from Stark Industries.

For a moment he panicked. Tony had promised not to look up his identity!

But no, it was unlikely he could have gotten anything in the mail so quickly. And why would he mail Peter a letter anyway? What would it say - I know you’re Spider-Man, come teach me your web fluid formula or else?

No, this couldn’t have anything to do with yesterday. Peter ripped open the envelope, heart still pounding anxiously, and breathed a sigh of relief when he read the letterhead. It was from Stark Industry’s Young Minds Foundation, regarding the Junior Stark Invention Prize. Peter had entered the annual competition last summer, fresh out of high school and panicking about covering his college tuition. He’d just assumed he hadn’t won when he didn’t hear anything back for months.

He read through the letter, still riding the coattails of relief too intensely to feel nervous about the prize. Which was good, since he hadn’t won.

They regretted to inform him that he was not a winner, however… However. They were impressed with his work and would like to speak to him regarding an internship opportunity.

“What the fuck?” Peter breathed, wide eyed as he skimmed the rest of the letter. There was an email address and a phone number to contact if he was interested. “Oh my god.”

This was unprecedented. As far as Peter was aware, Stark Industries only took post-grads as interns, and those spots were next to impossible to get. They had a high school program, but Peter had been too busy with Spider-Man to apply.

He was still too busy with Spider-Man, but this wasn’t an opportunity that he could just turn down. Not when it fell right into his lap. Suspicious timing or no, he’d make it work. He had to.

Looks like he’d be going back to Stark Tower after all.

Grinning ear to ear, he pulled out his phone and called the only number on speed dial. “Oh my god, Aunt May. You will not _believe_ what just happened.”


	3. Sitting Still Was Never Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The useless drags, the empty days_   
_The lonely towers of long mistakes_   
_To forgotten faces and faded loves_   
_Sitting still was never enough_   
_And if you're giving in, then you're giving up._
> 
> Here Is No Why - The Smashing Pumpkins

“Hey, Mr. Hulk. Aren’t you supposed to be taller? I mean, no offense or anything, but you’re lookin’ a little scrawny there.”

Spider-Man webbed the semi-automatic out of the masked robber’s hands and flipped easily out of the way of a responding spray of gunfire. The rest of the gang, all wearing cheap plastic Avengers masks to hide their faces, kept the hero busy while the one in the Hulk mask ran off to help his friend shove money into canvas sacks. The bank vault gaped open, door melted off its hinges by a blast from what was clearly a weapon made of alien tech. Chitauri, from the looks of it. 

“Wait a minute… _You’re_ not the Avengers!” Spidey webbed the Thor mask off one of the criminals to a chorus of shouted curses and more gunfire. “Aw, lame.”

He webbed down one of them, two, then got caught up in the fight again when the money-handlers joined in the fray. 

“Come on, guys. Everyone knows Captain America doesn’t use guns!” He kicked the alien tech out of the fake captain’s hands and neatly dodged more fire from the one in the red and gold mask. “And Iron Man’s guns are _much_ bigger.”

Tony chuckled in spite of himself, the rusty sound muffled in the palm of his hand as he stared down at the screen of his phone. 

It was an old Youtube video, to a count of two years and two hundred million hits. The camera work was shaky and poor quality, but clear enough to make out the tight twists and turns of the hero in action. He was a skilled fighter, if a bit frenetic. He seemed to move with almost preternatural speed, ducking or flipping out of the way before his opponents even seemed to know which direction they were going to strike from. Tony slid back the progress bar and started watching again, his third time through.

He wore an older version of the Spider-Man suit, more homemade looking, but he sounded the same. Moved the same. Graceful and fluid and frankly pretty hot in the skin-tight spandex. Tony allowed himself to recognize that he might be developing a bit of an infatuation, especially since he hadn’t been able to crack the guy’s web fluid formula before it dissolved into nothing beneath his microscope. Even the piece he’d tucked safe and sound inside a vacuum sealed container was gone after a couple of hours. Funny, powerful, attractive _and_ crazy smart? A dangerous combination.

He’d have to be careful not to let this develop into another obsession. He could recognize the signs, knew he was prone to pathological fixation when he found something particularly mentally stimulating. And he could already feel the itch beneath his skin, the urge to find out absolutely everything he could about this guy. 

Which he shouldn’t do. Because he had specifically asked Tony not to look into his identity and Tony had given his word in the name of ‘professional courtesy.’ Whatever that meant.

He sighed to himself and closed the webpage. He already had the video half-memorized anyway - he didn’t need to feed the information-greedy monster inside his brain. He tossed the phone aside and leaned his head against the back of the couch to stare up at the high ceiling for a moment. He needed a distraction. A different distraction. One that wasn’t going to break any more promises. Or, hopefully, laws.

He considered calling Pepper to bug her about whether the new intern had signed all his intake paperwork yet, but that was no longer her job and even though he would have gone ahead and done it anyway when they were together, they were not together now and he was trying this new thing where he set boundaries and _didn’t_ pester the people he loved until they couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him for any substantial length of time.

Trying being the operative word.

He was self-aware enough to realize that his primary reason for pestering his ex and CEO of his company about something so trivial was not to actually get his question answered, but because he wanted to hear her voice. And that was just pitiful enough to convince him not to do it.

“Hey, Fri. Has the intern I hired signed his life and soul away to Stark Industries yet?”

“The intern you had R and D hire signed his last NDA at eleven nineteen today.”

“Don’t give me that snark, computer. I made you, and I can unmake you whenever I damn well feel like it.” He lifted his wrist to glance at his watch. Eleven twenty-seven on a Saturday. Huh, March already. “He still in the building?”

“Yes, sir.” Her honorific held just enough emphasis to walk the line of sarcasm, but Tony let it slide. This time.

“Send him up.”

He sat up, tipped his head from side to side to work some of the stiffness out of his neck, and sprung form the couch with more nimbleness than he felt. The common room was clean, as it always was these days, in the way only unoccupied spaces can be. Shiny and empty and nothing out of place. He smoothed down his tie and buttoned his suit jacket back up, musing that at least the council meeting that morning had gotten him dressed, so it hadn’t been entirely for nothing.

Coffee. He could make coffee, and then the place would at least not smell like a show room. He wondered idly if there were even fresh beans in the team kitchen, since he mostly used the espresso machine in the lab or the single serve in his room now. There were, tucked into the same cabinet as always. He checked the fridge too, on a whim. Fully stocked. He chose to ignore the inexplicable pang of melancholy at the sight. He should tell the staff not to waste so much food in here. He probably wouldn’t.

“He’s on his way. ETA two minutes.”

“Great.” Tony poured a liberal handful of beans into the coffee grinder and pulled the necessary levers. “This intern has a name, I’m assuming?”

“Peter Parker.”

“Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater. Had a wife and couldn’t keep her.” Tony grimaced at the rhyme and pulled two white mugs out to set on the granite countertop. “What the hell is that about, anyway?”

“Murder, sir.”

“Ah, lovely.”

The coffee machine beeped at him, and he pressed the button to start brewing. The rich, earthy scent of freshly ground dark roast was mouthwatering, suddenly reminding him of how little sleep he had gotten last night. And the night before. And the night before that. He’d feel better with another dose of caffeine in his system. He had to stay away from most stimulants since his last heart surgery, but he couldn’t quit coffee. He leaned close to the whirring appliance and took a few deep breaths. 

“Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you.”

The elevator dinged behind him.

Tony straightened up and turned around, conjuring his public smile with an ease that came from decades of practice.

The boy who stepped out of the elevator was rumpled and clearly nervous. He had a backpack slung over the shoulder of a dark blue hoodie, straps fraying with age and wear. His sneakers were scuffed to hell and his hair was a dark, tousled mess, even after he tried to smooth it down with one hand before he caught sight of Tony across the room. His wide eyes were big and brown and framed by ridiculous lashes. He looked painfully young and stupidly cute.

“Jesus, kid. I thought you were supposed to be in college.”

He froze, just a couple of hesitant steps outside of the elevator. Tony watched a small frown twist the corners of his mouth downwards before he got control of his expression and tried to look more polite. It was all adorably obvious. 

“Um, I am. M-Mr. Stark. A freshman. In college.”

Tony leaned one hip against the counter, feeling like he could use the support. A freshman. Jesus fucking christ. “You don’t look eighteen.”

Peter shifted his bag on his shoulder, a slightly bitter sort of chagrin crossing his expressive features. “Seventeen, actually.” Tony blew his next breath out through a clenched jaw and turned to serve himself some much needed coffee. “My, uh, my Aunt signed the necessary papers with me.”

Tony chuckled with a shake of his head, watching his mug fill. They just kept getting younger and younger, didn’t they? Not even old enough to sign his own contracts. Then again, when Tony was seventeen he was graduating from MIT, already an addict with poor coping mechanisms that would last him another thirty years. He took a fortifying sip of coffee, burning his tongue and the roof of his mouth, and turned back around with his nicest apology smile.

“Hows about we start over. Hi, I’m Tony Stark. You’re Peter Parker. Nice to meet you.” He quickly set the second mug to filling. “I’d shake your hand but I don’t really do that anymore if it’s not for a photoshoot, so here. Have some coffee, take a seat. Let a load off.”

He set the mug down in front of one of the barstools and gestured for the boy to sit. He did, fumbling awkwardly beside the stool for a moment while he figured out where to set down his backpack (on the floor, slumped against the base of the kitchen island).

Peter took a small sip of the coffee and made a quickly stifled face at it before he spoke again. “I didn’t know I’d be starting today.”

Tony shrugged, face still buried in his own mug. He hadn’t known either, but most of his decisions were made on a whim these days.

“I didn’t know I’d be working with you at all, actually.” He sounded both confused and apologetic, tugging the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his hands, then immediately pushing them back up to his elbows when he realized what he was doing.

“Yes, well, neither did the hiring department. I make it a point not to share the unnecessary details.” That didn’t clear any of the puzzlement from the kid’s face, so he took another too-large gulp of his drink and gathered his words. He was working on his habit of talking in circles - an unfortunate side effect of thoughts that ran too fast for his tongue.

“I don’t pick the Junior Stark Invention Prize winner.” He waved a hand in casual dismissiveness. “Didn’t come up with the contest, don’t have any hand in it. Some guy in Research and Development makes the final call. No, I just happened to be looking through some of the entries last month. Last month? It was definitely a Thursday because I’d ordered sushi. Decided to poke around on the servers for anything interesting because a certain someone locked me out of the lab again.” Protocol 36 Hours Is Too Long Take a Fucking Break (Rhodey named that one and he wasn’t very creative) was a bitch. “Anyway. I was reading through the entries, because they always hate it when I poke my nose into things and I was bored, when I stumbled across your genius little proposal.” 

The boy flushed pink all the way to his ears. His eyes flickered down to where his hand curled around the still full mug in front of him, and immediately back up again, full of rapt attention and amazed wonder. Hero worship, pure and simple. It was something Tony had been on the receiving end of many times over the years, something he thought he’d gotten used to, grown immune to. It still sent a little shot of warmth through his chest, though, coming from someone who radiated both innocence and cleverness.

He broke eye contact to set his coffee down and spread his palms over the cool granite. “R and D are all idiots if they couldn’t see how applicable your bio gel is. You know I saw the winning proposal?” He scoffed derisively. “Nothing but a middle school science project on steroids - no innovation. I guess I’m not surprised since the department doesn’t do shit, anyway. I carry the whole company. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Peter had a crooked little smile on his mouth, and Tony watched as he tamed it, teeth catching around his bottom lip for a moment. “Thank you. I mean, I’m like, beyond flattered. Just that you even read it. Like, wow.” He took a small breath and Tony felt a foreign impulse to smile. “But it’s not… I mean, I know the supporting research wasn’t very developed. I didn’t have the tools to start testing practical application. It’s all just theory, really.”

“Sound theory.” Tony tapped his fingers absently as he recalled the details. “A biological substance that conducts charge like a computer but has the physical plasticity to grow and learn like a brain. A new frontier for AI. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it myself, honestly. But then again, biochem was never my area of expertise.”

Peter was blushing again. Tony wondered mildly how often he could get him to do that. A scientific curiosity, of course. “Yeah, well… Even if I could work out the right properties to make it, I wouldn’t have the coding know-how to really make it do anything.”

Tony let himself smile, and it was even a little bit genuine this time. “Well, good thing I’m a master coder and the leading world expert in artificial intelligence.” He straightened up and clapped his hands together. “Want to take a tour of the labs?”

The boy blinked at him for a moment, clearly stunned.

“Um, yes. Absolutely. Please.” He was off his stool in a heartbeat, eyes lit up with gleeful excitement. It was not unexpected, but still gratifying to see the appreciation Tony knew his personal lab deserved. He didn’t let many people in there, and most of them had gotten used to it (Bruce) or just didn’t appreciate how fucking cool it was (everyone else). Spider-Man’s reaction had been pretty nice, too, come to think of it.

“Alright then.” He grabbed the mugs to dump in the sink, snorting softly at Peter’s still full cup. He downed it himself before rinsing them both out. “Friday, give Parker accompanied access to the sub level four labs and have an ID card printed so he can get in on his own next time.”

“Yes, boss.”

The kid trailed after him all the way to the elevator, but he didn’t ask about Friday.

“That’s my AI, by the way.” Tony explained as the elevator doors shut and they started moving. “She runs basically everything in this building.” And much more than that, but Tony kept the true dimensions of her reach on the DL since it wasn’t precisely legal.

“Oh, right, wow. Um, h-hi, Ms. Friday!” Peter seemed to have gone into a mild state of shock. It was kind of endearing. Or whatever.

“A pleasure to meet you, Peter Parker.”

They toured the lab. Peter expressed appreciation at all the right things, sometimes effusively. His eyes had gone wide and bright up as soon as they’d walked in, and the way his face and whole body came alive with excitement was giving Tony a thrill for science like he hadn’t felt in years. It was fresh. It was exhilarating all over again. The boy knew almost all of the equipment Tony showed him, in theory if not in practice, and he could hardly contain himself from asking questions about anything new and unfamiliar.

“Ooooh my god, is that a Hadron Collider?” He practically drooled over the massive tubes protruding from the walls at one end of the lab.

“Well, no, because copyright infringement.” Peter opened his mouth to ask another question, up on his toes with the urgency of it. “And _no_ you cannot use it. I’m technically supposed to have some permits for that sort of thing which I may or may not theoretically have failed to get. Plus it’s, like, super dangerous. Supposedly.”

“Right, right of course. But if, you know, it was necessary for a project, and you had your AI check the calculations and everything, and you were the one with the launch codes so to speak, then maybe, provided you got the permits and everything, maybe I could watch?”

Tony had a hard time stifling his smile at that one. “Maybe.”

The tour left him buzzing to get started right away, but he was aware that Peter hadn’t even been prepared to work today, let alone dive straight into what was sure to be an hours-long science binge. Besides, setting up an actual schedule would probably be a responsible employer thing to do.

“So let’s hash out the deets.” He held the door open to the back office that he never used, yanked an old blanket off the couch to toss aside and started up the coffee maker. Mostly just for something to do with his hands. “I’m thinking 20 hours a week, split fifty-fifty between your project and helping me out with some of mine.”

It was entirely possible, even likely, that the Parker kid wouldn’t be able to keep up well enough to actually be useful. Maybe someone else had helped him write the proposal, a teacher or a relative. It happened more often than anyone would think, but Tony doubted that was the case this time. He’d be able to tell soon enough, anyhow. There was nothing to say he couldn’t un-hire the intern whenever he wanted. And if he was bright enough to at least follow along, which it looked like he might be, it wouldn’t _kill_ Tony to try the whole teaching thing. Give a little back. Pass on the torch of knowledge, or whatever.

“Oh, um. Actually, I…” He turned to find Peter perched on the edge of the couch, hesitating with a guilty sort of grimace.

Tony motioned for him to get on with it.

“Well it’s just… I would absolutely love to, really, but I have, um, I’m taking the maximum course load allowed and I have… Extracurriculars, and - ”

“A life. Of course.” He brushed a hand through the air. “How does ten hours sound? They can be mostly or exclusively on the weekend if that’s better for you.”

Any less and they wouldn’t make much weekly progress. Tony would get impatient and plow ahead on his own, and then this whole exercise in mentorship would be a moot point.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Peter smiled in relief, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing incrementally. “That would be, just, amazing. Really, thank you.”

Tony turned his back again to fish a dirty travel mug out of the sink and rinse it out (cleaning services weren’t allowed down here). He was unused to such genuine gratitude, so he brushed it off. 

“Hows about next Saturday? Or Friday. Whatever works. Speaking of - Friday, go ahead and add me as a contact to Peter’s phone.”

“Done, sir.” 

He heard Peter shuffle to pull his phone out and look. It might not be the smartest move to give a seventeen year old he’d just met his personal number, but he could easily change it if he needed to. There would only be a few people to update, and Friday could do it as easily as she’d just hacked into Peter’s cell. 

“Just let me know when you’re going to stop by. If I’m not available, we’ll reschedule.” He poured his coffee and glanced at his new intern, catching his already rapt attention once more. “You won’t have access to the labs without me present, at least for now.”

“Right, okay.” He was looking a bit dazed again. This had probably been enough for one day, and Tony knew he could be a bit… Overwhelming. Looked like it was time to wrap things up.

He conjured his polite smile, making sure to keep things pleasant. “Stop by the main desk downstairs on your way out, they’ll have your card ready for you. Friday will take you where you need to go - just hop on the elevator.” He nodded back towards the other end of the lab, settling his weight against the edge of his cluttered desk. 

Recognizing the clear dismissal, Peter sprung to his feet and headed for the door. He paused on the threshold, wavering for a moment before turning back. “Thank you. Again. I’ll, um, text you. Next weekend.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, flushed red across the tops of his cheeks, and turned on his heel to duck back into the lab and make his escape. 

Tony chuckled into his coffee, amused by the absurdity of the interaction in spite of himself. “Jesus christ, Stark. This better not blow up in your face.”

He hadn’t been getting a lot of things right lately. But this wasn’t exactly a high risk endeavor. What was the worst that could happen? He could scare some random kid off. Or fuck him up. He’d probably fuck him up. He couldn’t see how, right now, but he was sure he’d find a way.

Damn.

He sighed, poured the coffee down the drain, and threw the mug in the trash. It was stained to hell anyway. Some freebie from MIT the last time he gave a speech. He sank down on the couch and tipped his head back to rest on the cushion. The springs were definitely broken. He used to sleep on it, often, until he got tired of making the trip across the lab and put another, bigger sofa by his workstation. 

“Any news alerts?”

“No, sir.” Friday used to sound more kind when he asked. Pitying. He was glad he’d programmed that out of her. “No mention of any of them in international media. There have been two-thousand four-hundred and twelve hits on blogging and social media sites since my last report. None are relevant.”

He closed his eyes and just breathed for a minute.

“Where’s Pepper?”

“Ms. Potts is in Chicago, representing Stark Industries at an ACLU fundraising event.”

“Mm.” 

It was still disorienting, sometimes, not to even know when she was out of the city. Unless he checked up on her. Which he knew he shouldn't do, but it wasn’t like anyone expected better of him. 

He felt like having a drink. He felt like having several, but it wasn’t five o’clock yet and he was trying not to make Rhodey come drag him out of another crisis until next month, at least. He should probably work on the smart armor contract Secretary Ross kept bugging him for. Or sign all the paperwork Pepper had sent over to him yesterday for his John Hancock. Or go to the gym. A solid couple of hours in the pool or squaring up against a punching bag was enough to calm the buzzing of his skin. Sometimes.

“Fri. Pull up all the unwatched videos of Spider-Man. Oldest to newest.”

“You got it, boss.”


	4. Hold On To These Moments As They Pass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _It's been a long December and there's reason to believe_   
_Maybe this year will be better than the last_   
_I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself_   
_To hold on to these moments as they pass_
> 
> A Long December - Counting Crows

Peter was not the most composed person at the best of times. 

Unless he was fighting bad guys or taking a test, he didn’t really stay calm under pressure, and keeping his mouth shut about anything other than his secret identity was pretty much an impossibility. He’d blurted out his crush on MJ about two-point-five seconds after he realized what those pesky butterflies in his stomach were all about. Ned had never really forgiven him for accidentally outing his online hacking activities to his parents. And he had never, not once, successfully surprised May with his Christmas or birthday gift choices.

To get to the point, Peter was not a subtle person.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, Aunt May, no, like, this was crazy. It was insane. Literally insane. Like, never in a million years did I think this would happen. It shouldn’t happen! Seriously, like maybe I imagined it? Maybe I finally went off the deep end and hallucinated an extremely detailed, life-like dream interaction with the guy I’ve idolized since I was literally seven. I mean that seems more likely than the alternative. Do you think I’m crazy? I mean, do I give off like, out of touch with reality vibes? Cause I’m not exactly sure what’s real anymore. I think maybe -”

“Pete. Honey, take a breath.”

“Maybe this is all - Right. Okay.” He took a deep breath, adjusting the phone against his ear. “Thanks. I think maybe this was some sort of joke? Or like a test? But I don’t know what he could be testing me for. I mean, it’s totally possible, totally likely that he’s testing me to see if I’m even smart enough to intern for him. Like, directly for him which is… Holy shit. Like I can’t believe it, but that’s what he was implying. More than implying, actually, like really explicitly stating? That I’m gonna intern with him. For him. Tony Stark. Holy _shit_.”

“Language, honey.”

“Sorry. Do you think I am? Smart enough? I mean because I’ve always gotten good grades and I like biochem and science stuff a lot. But I didn’t even win that invention prize. And I mean, as far as I know, Tony Stark _never_ takes personal interns. They don’t even let undergrads intern for the company, usually, and he doesn’t even like to talk to the students when he speaks at MIT. I don’t even go to MIT.”

“No, baby, you go to Columbia. MIT’s not even an ivy league!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t really matter when they rank above us in all the research areas that matter.”

“Peter, stop it. You’re brilliant, of course Tony Stark wants to work with you.”

“But I’m not -”

“What did he say exactly? Because if winning that invention prize was so important, why isn’t he inviting the winner to work with him?”

“He said…” Peter shifted on his bed, fiddling with the edge of the sheet as his face grew hot all over again. “Um, he seemed to like my idea.”

“Did he say why you didn’t win the prize, then?”

He felt his blush deepen, but he couldn’t keep the breathless grin out of his voice. “He said the Research and Development department picks the winner, and that they’re all idiots. He called the winning invention a middle school science project on steroids.”

Aunt May’s laugh was bright and sharp across the staticky connection. “See? You’re just too smart for them. Only another genius can recognize how goddamn smart you are.”

“Language!” Peter teased, and they both giggled.

“This is great news, honey. Amazing news. I’m so freakin’ proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay, I gotta go get ready for my shift. Darryl’s letting me take another double this week, even though Sherry complained because she’s a petty witch with a capital B.”

“Aunt May!”

“Oh, I almost forgot! When do you start? I’ll send positive thoughts.”

“Um, Saturday.”

“Saturday. Got it. Get ready for a buttload of good vibes and good luck. I’m gonna send you so much luck it’ll knock you over.”

“Just as long as it’s not Parker luck, okay?”

“No Parker luck over here. Generic luck only.”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright honey, I love you.”

“Love you, too. Talk to you later.”

“Make sure you get enough sleep Friday night. And do your homework!”

“_Goodbye_, Aunt May.”

“Bye, baby. Talk to you later.”

Peter pulled the phone from his ear and hung up, a faint smile lingering on his face for a moment. 

Holy shit. Saturday.

He was going to intern for Tony Start. On Saturday. Which was less than a week from now. He stared down at the phone held limply in his lap, watching as the screen dimmed and eventually went dark. It was still insurmountable to wrap his head around. Running into Iron Man on patrol? Amazing, but not out of the realm of possibility. He’d been secretly hoping it would happen for years, actually. But meeting Tony Stark as Peter Parker? _Working_ with Tony Stark as Peter Parker? Never. Never had he even fantasized about such a thing, it was so far outside his idea of reality.

He tossed his phone aside with a huff of disbelief and flopped back onto his pillow, scrubbing his hands across his face. 

“Whaaaaaaat the fuck.”

* * *

The week passed by incredibly quickly. Peter was always busy, but these days carried a frantic sort of energy that made him feel like time was flying by and all he could do was rush to keep up. Lectures passed in the blink of an eye, leaving pages of neatly detailed notes in his subject binders. His homework was completed in a sort of a daze, hours slipping through his fingers as he wrote two papers, completed a lab report and turned in two more calculus problem sets. 

His life suddenly felt vaguely illicit, somehow. All the classmates he spoke to, the nice front desk girl at the library, his coworkers at the restaurant, none of them knew that come the weekend, he would be joining Tony fucking Stark in his personal laboratory. Sneaking out to patrol each evening, which had become his normal routine, held a new fissure of excitement. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but it didn’t really help with the itching sense of unreality, either.

When Saturday rolled around, much sooner than Peter was ready for, he was a bit of an anxious mess. He hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before, even after he tired himself out taking on a gang meeting in the warehouse district. His stomach was a mess of knots all night, and he wasn’t able to choke down more than half a strawberry pop-tart for breakfast. Which was fine, because he could save the other half for tomorrow and postpone grocery shopping at least another day.

He had no idea how early Tony Stark woke up on Saturdays, so he waited until the generally accepted 9:00 AM to compose a text. He struggled over how to word it, going back and forth on whether or not he should introduce himself. (Friday clearly already knew his phone number, but would she have added it to Tony’s contact list? Did he even have a contact list or did his phone just recognize every unblocked number – and probably the blocked ones too – in the world? The idea of his name in Tony Stark’s phone was almost more incredible than the fact that this was all happening in the first place.) Once he finally settled on what to say, it took another couple minutes to actually work up the courage to press send. Part of him was still convinced this was all going to fall out from under him. 

But he was really doing this. He was texting Tony Stark in real life. And with a rush of nervous adrenalin, he hit the button.

_Hey, this is Peter Parker. Would it work for me to come to the tower at 10:00 or 10:30 today? Or any other time. I’m free all day._

He’d had to clear his schedule, get cover for a shift at the restaurant and cancel plans with a study group, but it was so worth it. He set his phone aside and took a steadying breath, urging his racing heart to calm the fuck down. It would probably take a while for him to get a response, considering Tony must be a very busy man. He resigned himself to trying to get ahead on some bio reading and fished the textbook out of his backpack. But before he could flip to the right chapter, his phone buzzed softly against the bedspread.

He scrambled for it, heart suddenly kicking into overdrive, and it took three separate tries to unlock the phone, his fingers fumbling over the number keys.

_Affirmative_

Affirmative. As in yes. As in, come over to the tower and work on badass science with me, Tony fucking Stark.

“Yes!” Peter punched the air, grinning stupidly at the one-word response. 

It only took half an hour to get to Stark Tower on the weekend, and he didn’t want to commit some unwitting faux pas by arriving early, so he had some time to kill. He couldn’t focus on reading from a textbook though, so he spent the time jotting down notes on how he might start testing compounds and materials for his biogel design now that he had exponentially more resources at his disposable. He couldn’t stop glancing at the time every couple of minutes to make sure he wasn’t running late (because he couldn’t really imagine anything worse at the moment), so he ended up slinging his backpack over one shoulder and locking his room door on the way out a good five minutes before he actually needed to leave.

It was a good thing, too, because his train sat at Columbus Circle for ten minutes while the conductor called the cops on someone who wouldn’t stop smoking inside one of the cars. When he finally arrived in the lobby of the tower, stomach full of snakes, it was a couple of minutes past 10:00 AM. He told himself he most certainly was not late and Mr. Stark would probably not be annoyed, and tried to look like he belonged there as he strode over to the bank of shiny elevators.

Belatedly, he stopped beside the doors and dug his ID card out of his bag. It was a simple thing, just his name and his Columbia ID photo (which, you know, it probably wasn’t a big deal for Mr. Stark’s AI to hack into the university database and retrieve) under the Stark Industries insignia. He pressed the call button and an elevator to his left opened immediately. He tapped his card to the reader beside the panel of buttons and looked for his floor, only to realize with a pulse of panic that none of the sublevels were listed. He must have gotten into the wrong elevator.

“Shit,” he muttered, going for the door-open button so he could get back out again, but the elevator was already moving.

It slid smoothly downward, and Peter glanced up at the ceiling in silent thanks to Friday. He arrived with a soft ding and the doors slid open to reveal the lab ahead, looking just the same as it had the last two times he’d been there. He took a short breath, trying to get himself under control so the giddy excitement wouldn’t be too obvious, and briefly considered the possibility that this experience might one day become commonplace enough not to elicit such a reaction.

The doors to the lab slid open automatically as he approached, and he peered around for some sign of Tony, reluctant to move too far inside this sacred space without the man present. There was no visible sign of him, but Peter could hear noises coming from further in. A soft, low hum, the whir of an expensive drill, a short clang as something was tossed aside and a huff of air as someone exhaled sharply. 

Peter wet his lips, stepping tentatively in that direction and calling out, “Um, Mr. Stark?”

No answer. He padded further inwards and rounded a large workbench stacked high with unopened boxes, catching sight of a bit of movement towards the back corner of the lab. He wound his way over, eventually coming to a line of sport cars (holy shit, how had he not noticed these before?) parked along the expansive back wall. 

Tony Stark was hunched over one of them, elbow deep in the open hood. Peter knew next to nothing about cars, but this one looked ridiculously flashy and incredibly broken, its engine exposed and insides gutted, pieces and parts scattered across the floor and the wheeling cart parked beside the vehicle. And Tony… Tony looked… Different. 

He’d clearly been working in the lab for a while, and he was less put together than both of the previous times Peter had seen him. No pristine track suit, no coordinated business attire, just jeans and a worn band t-shirt. The cuffs of his pants were fraying above his dusty designer sneakers and the sleeves of his shirt were threadbare, straining over his biceps as he twisted something inside the open car. His hair was messier, curlier than he usually wore it, like maybe he’d gotten a little sweaty and ran his fingers through it. He had a smudge of dark grease on the outside of one forearm, hand braced on the front bumper as he bent over whatever he was working on. 

Peter’s mouth was suddenly very dry, because this wasn’t the Tony Stark everyone saw in public. He’d never posed for magazines in outfits quite like this one. And Peter had never thought the man could be sexier than when he loosened the knot of a tie from around his neck (or god fucking forbid, when he wore the Iron Man suit), but right now it was hitting him like a ton of bricks just how _hot_ the billionaire was.

He attempted to swallow and forced his eyes away, towards the line of cars, willing himself not to turn pink with embarrassment. “H-Hey, Mr. Stark.”

Something clanged jarringly inside the hood of the car and Tony cursed, jerking backwards and twisting around to look at Peter. He blinked at him a couple of times before recognition dawned in his eyes. “Peter. Parker. You’re here early.”

“Um.” He resisted the urge to pull out his phone and double check the time, even though he’d been staring at it all the way here. “It’s after ten?”

“Is it really?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.” He looked down at the small power drill held loosely in his right hand, glanced around almost aimlessly for a moment before he threw it down on the cluttered cart and plucked up some type of wrench instead. Then he turned and reached back into the bowels of the car again. “Friday, where’s my music?”

“You shut it off after Mr. Parker texted, over an hour ago.”

He hummed once in acknowledgement, clearly refocused on his work, and Peter shuffled awkwardly in place and wondered if this meant he was supposed to start on his own. He wasn’t even sure which lab benches he was meant to use, or if he had free reign. He waited a while, feeling terribly intrusive, before gesturing uselessly back towards the rest of the lab. “So, should I –”

“Yep. Just a second. Maybe thirty.” Tony dropped the wrench into the mess on the floor and grabbed hold of a clamp-like thing, which he used both hands to arrange inside the hood. “Don’t move a muscle. Just gotta…”

He fiddled with it for a few moments before turning the lever with one arm, the repetitive movement catching Peter’s interested gaze. He could hear the car parts creaking, iron grinding on metal at a nearly inaudible range that set his teeth on edge. Tony grunted and pulled something out with a great yank. It was a strange little piece clasped in the tool he held, cylindrical on one end and shiny silver under all the grease. He noticed Peter’s inquisitive stare and held it up for examination. “Piston. Didn’t like the look of it.”

“Oh.”

He tossed the whole thing aside, clamp and piston both, and began wiping his hands off on a filthy rag.

Peter adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Sorry. If this is a bad time, I mean. I could come back –”

Tony waved the rag vaguely. “Not at all. Great time. Just didn’t know the time. But now I do, and it’s great.” He spun on his heel and strode purposefully off into the lab. “Come along.”

He hurried to follow, jogging a couple of steps to catch up as Tony led them all the way to the other side of the cavernous space. There were lab benches just like he was used to from his chem and bio classes, and a couple of huge shelving units full of supplies. Tony stopped beside one and looked up at it, reaching to ruffle the back of his hair with one hand.

“I’m really not big on the biochem, like I said, so I had Bruce make a list of all the basics and ordered twice as much as he suggested, just to be safe.”

Peter felt his jaw drop in surprise. “Bruce like Bruce Banner? That Bruce?”

“The one and only. Why, you a fan?”

“Oh, uh. I mean, he’s like, Dr. Banner is amazing. Just his work on mutant genealogy alone is… Wow. I’ve read everything he’s published in Nature Reviews and it’s beyond fascinating. His take on the commonality of modern mutates is especially… Just…” He cleared his throat, cheeks growing warm. “Yeah, I guess I’m a fan.”

Tony snickered, clearly amused by his rambling. “Don’t forget the whole turning into a giant green rage machine. That’s pretty cool, too.”

“Sure, I guess so.”

“Guess so.” Tony shook his head and looked back at the shelves full of all the supplies Peter could think of and several that he didn’t even recognize. “Just let me know if you need more of any of this stuff, or if there’s something more specialized I should order. We can get pretty much anything overnighted. Except maybe vibranium – that’s a bit difficult to get your hands on these days.” He tapped a finger to the center of his chest, producing a dull sound through his shirt. “Had to fight tooth and nail just to keep this little bit.” 

Peter tried not to stare, remembering exactly what that arc reactor looked like. Being Tony Stark clearly had its perks. “Okay, cool. Thanks.”

Tony stepped over to one of the neat tables and picked up a StarkPad, bringing it to life with a touch of his finger. “This one is assigned to you. You should set up a password or touch ID, if you want to take it outside the lab. Just keep in mind that Friday and I have access to everything you store on here.” He offered a tight smile and a small shrug. “No such thing as privacy in a corporate setting.”

He nodded along, making a mental note to keep his internet searches strictly professional on any and all Stark devices.

“The whole lab has holo capabilities.” He demonstrated by swiping up from the StarkPad, an empty browser window appearing in the air between them. “You can ask Friday if you need help with the commands. And if you want a real monitor, we can make that happen. Not everyone gets used to the holo-keyboard.”

“Okay.” He was dying to try it out, actually.

“Well.” Tony dropped the StarkPad back on the table and clapped his hands together. “I don’t really have any projects for you to help out with at the moment, so why don’t you make a start on your proposal, design some pilot experiments, however you want to get this show on the rodeo.”

“Yeah, absolutely. Sounds great.”

“Great. Just like I said.” He stared at the shelves of supplies for another moment, and Peter noticed the purple shadows under his eyes. The man moved with such energy and purpose, it was easy to forget that he was human too. Maybe he didn’t have enough time for sleep, given how busy he must be, which was definitely something Peter could relate to on a deeply personal level. Although he was quite sure the man could hire a mechanic skilled enough to handle his car collection, if he was that strapped for time. 

Tony was in motion again after a couple of heartbeats, and Peter quickly busied himself with the StarkPad, not wanting to be seen loitering. He expected Tony to go back to his shiny red sports car, as he was clearly in the middle of whatever he had been doing to the poor machine, but he stuck close by and set himself up at a cluttered table a few yards away. Peter could hear him mutter a command for Friday to “Pull up those contracts I was supposed to John Hancock last week.”

He would have thought it would drive him to distraction, trying to focus with Tony Stark sitting literally right there, but he lost himself in the work with surprising ease. The StarkPad was fucking amazing. He’d seen them before, but never used one himself. It was so fast, so user friendly. He set up a passcode first (Uncle Ben’s birthday, backwards) and skimmed through the apps. Then he pulled a browser page into the air, unable to suppress a grin of excitement as he leaned around the hologram to see what it looked like from different angles. He even waved his hand around it, looking for a disruption in the projection stream, but the whole system must be AI because the light source adjusted so the image never flickered. Genius. Literal genius.

“Um, Ms. Friday?” He kept his voice low, not wanted to disturb Mr. Stark and assuming there were microphones all over the lab. “How do I access the keyboard?”

“Raise your hands as if there were a piano in front of you,” She answered promptly, voice directed through a speaker in his lab bench instead of the overheads.

He did so, and a glowing blue keyboard appeared under his hands. “So cool,” He breathed, watching as the keys lit up where he lowered his fingertips to ‘touch’ them. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Parker.”

It did take a few minutes to get used to the keyboard. It was awkward at first, trying to hold his wrists stiff at the same level so he didn’t put his hands through the virtual keys, before he realized that the whole board adjusted no matter what height his fingers were at. He suspected that Friday was learning how he typed, too, because his errors decreased exponentially after just a handful of internet searches, and he didn’t think that was entirely due to his increasing familiarity with the system. He was itching to ask Mr. Stark if the holo system was implemented anywhere else, or if it relied on Friday to operate. Everything seemed possible when it came to Stark tech, but it really was incredible how many light years ahead his AI systems were compared to anything else on the market. 

Once he felt like he had the hang of it, he pulled out his notebook. He nearly laughed to himself at how lo-fi his pen and paper were compared to everything around him – he wondered if Tony Stark even owned pen and paper anymore. He had a few starting points to choose from, but all of them required him to run some numbers first. “Excuse me, Friday. Do you have the ACES software? Or, um, PLATO? Oh, and JME. If, if you have it. Or, I could see if maybe my school could share the license, since –”

“I can download all three, Peter. It looks like Dr. Banner also has OpenAtom on his account. Would you like access to that, as well?”

“Holy shit, you can run OpenAtom?”

“Of course.” If it was possible for an AI to sound offended, Friday did.

“You trying to overload my servers, Parker?”

Peter jumped in his seat, twisting around to look at Tony, who had somehow padded up behind him without triggering his spidey sense. “Oh, no. Sorry, I was just –”

“Relax, I’m just f- messing with you. Friday can handle anything.” He clapped a hand down on Peter’s shoulder. It was very warm through his shirt, and he could feel the pad of Tony’s thumb pressing just below the base of his neck. “Hey, this is… actually a very good start.”

He was peering over Peter’s shoulder at his open notebook.

“You sound surprised.”

“No, no. Well, yes. Useless platitudes aside, I wasn’t entirely sure you’d have the chops beyond thorough background research and an inventive idea. But this…” He let his hand fall from Peter’s shoulder, leaving a cold patch against his skin, and pointed out the second to last bullet point on the page. “This could work.”

It took a second for Peter to register which idea Mr. Stark was indicating. “Oh, yeah. I thought that might be the best place to start. It’s kind of based off the biology of a jellyfish? Because like, people have tried developing synthetic brains, but that’s just not feasible with our current technology. And AI really doesn’t work like a brain. I mean, it’s all just programming, when you get down to it, and… Um…” 

He glanced sideways at the tech genius, suddenly afraid that he had said something offensive, but the older man just waved him on, nothing but focused interest in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Friday’s a genius but she still needs to run off several tons of CPU’s locked up in a temperature-controlled basement. Continue.”

“Right, so. I guess I thought of jellyfish as a good example because they don’t have a central nervous system, but their whole bodies conduct electrical impulses like they’re one diffuse, kind of simplified brain. Sort of. And if a substance like that could be programmed…”

“The possibilities are pretty astounding, yes.” Tony’s eyes flickered across the open notebook and he crossed his arms over his chest, clearly thinking it through. “So, is that where you came up with the idea in the first place? Jellyfish?”

“Oh, uh. No. It was something else, actually.”

Tony glanced at him as it became clear that he didn’t plan on elaborating. “Well, kid? Enlighten me.”

Peter cleared his throat, already feeling his face heat with embarrassment. “Okay, so. Have you heard of the show Battlestar Galactica?”

Tony’s lip twitched with suppressed amusement and he turned to lean his hip against the edge of the table, giving the intern his full attention. “I happen to be familiar, sure.”

“Well, um, there’s this one episode where Gaius Baltar is taken by the Cylons, and he wakes up inside one of the Basestars.” He reached for his pen for something to fiddle with, avoiding looking at Tony Stark while he revealed how much of a gigantic dork he was. “And this is the first time we actually get to see the inside of one of their ships. So, some of the walls are made of this strange, conductive substance, and you sort of get the impression that the whole ship is alive somehow. Then, a couple episodes later, we find out that the ship is actually –”

“Ah, the hybrid.”

“Yeah, exactly!” He flashed Mr. Stark a grin, pleasantly surprised to find out that he’d actually watched the show.

“Makes sense. It certainly was a creative mesh of the human and the technological.”

Peter shrugged. “It didn’t work out so great for her, but I figure as long as I stay away from human experimentation and keep everything strictly synthetic and, well, non-sentient, we should be in the clear.”

“I like the way you think, Parker.” He gave Peter a sloppy salute and pushed away from the table. “Carry on.” Peter grinned after him, watching until he had returned to his own table, which was now strewn with tools, another StarkPad, and what looked like the clawed arm detached from the clumsy robot Spider-Man had seen during his visit.

Friday gave him access to all the programs he’d mentioned, and a few he hadn’t, on the StarkPad. The operating system was far more advanced than any tablet he’d ever seen before, but he supposed that was to be expected, especially here in the lab, hooked up to Tony Stark’s personal AI. He easily spent the next few hours immersed in the calculations and simulations, testing out all his possible compounds to find out which ones were stable enough to try in the lab without failing completely or causing a devastating explosion. 

Tony kept to himself for the most part. Peter glanced over fairly regularly to find the billionaire fiddling with various mechanical or robotic items. The robot arm was apparently repaired to a satisfactory degree and was then replaced with a small object on wheels that attempted to roll itself off the table every time Tony set it down. At one point, he disappeared from his station only to reappear a few minutes later with what appeared to be an entire engine that he must have ripped out of the car he had been working on. He noticed, the more glances he stole when he thought Tony wouldn’t catch him at it, that the man looked tired. It wasn’t just the circles under his eyes or the stubble coming in outside his usually neat facial hair. It wasn’t even the way he held himself, as he continued to move with almost machine-like precision. It was the look in his eyes, how he sort of zoned out watching his hands work, like his mind was miles away. 

It was a little surprising, how handy he was. Peter had always imagined him drafting plans or working out complex equations, coding and using his tech, but this vision of mechanical proficiency, working so dexterously with his hands, was both unexpected and made complete sense.

Peter liked to think they worked well together. Or at least, they coexisted well in the same general area whilst working on separate things. Tony did offer a piece of advice on running multiple simulations simultaneously, which cut down on a lot of his wait time. It was quiet, but comfortable, and he got a hell of a lot accomplished for just one day. He had a hefty list of pilots he could feasibly run by the time he checked his phone and realized he had to get going. He didn’t really want to leave, but it was already evening, Saturday was his busiest night for patrol and he had to get up early the next morning to finish his homework before meeting May for brunch and then working the restaurant shift he’d swapped from today. _And_ he still needed to find some time to eat something for dinner because all he’d had was that half a Pop-Tart for breakfast and his stomach felt like it was eating itself.

Tony had put away the car engine and was staring at a holograph, one arm wrapped around his middle and the other hand stroking repeatedly over his beard as his eyes darted back and forth across the lines of text. The blue light deepened the shadows in the dips and angles of his face. 

Peter packed his things up quietly, left the Stark Pad in the corner of his table, slid off his stool and approached, not yet comfortable with calling across the space. “Hey, Mr. Stark?”

“Mm,” He hummed, focus not leaving the holograph.

“Um, it’s getting kind of late and I have – Hey, what is this?” He leaned closer, eyes catching on bits of formula. It looked really similar to… No, it was. It was definitely his web formula, right here on Tony Stark’s computer. It was notated differently, and it was missing the dissolving factor, but that was it. He’d done it. He’d figured it out. 

Peter was impressed, though he probably should have expected as much from the genius. He must have started from scratch, rather than reverse engineering the sample he’d gotten from Spider-Man. And he’d done it in just a couple of weeks. It had taken Peter _months_ to iron out all the kinks and get something workable. 

“Oh, nothing. Just a bit of a pet project. Not quite right yet, anyway.” Tony swept the formulas away with a wave of his hand and swung around to face Peter, who realized he had pressed too close into the man’s space and took a hasty step backwards. “What’s up, kid?”

“Oh, just it’s getting kind of late. And I should probably get going. Unless, um, you needed me to –”

Tony quickly shook his head. “No, of course. It’s Saturday, I’m sure you have things to do. You got a good, what, four or five hours in?”

“Almost nine, actually.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then. Almost nine. Definitely enough to earn yourself a break, eh? Go. Have fun.”

“Right.” Peter didn’t bother informing him that his time here in the lab was probably the most fun he’d be having all semester. “Well I can come back for a couple hours on Monday, if that works for you. In the afternoon?”

Tony shot him a finger gun, spinning back around to face his desk. “You’ve got my number.”

“Okay, yeah. Great. I’ll… Text you.” He hitched his backpack over his shoulder and waved an awkward goodbye, turning towards the exit doors. 

“And Peter?” He spun on his heel, pausing a few paces away. Tony wasn’t looking at him, eyes back on the holograph that had reappeared, but the half-smile pulling his mouth into a curve did something to Peter’s stomach. “Good job today.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

He left the lab feeling like finally, for maybe the first time in his life, he was walking on clouds with blue skies in every direction. And he couldn’t wait to go out on patrol and make this flying feeling reality.


End file.
